Hermione on Holiday
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: What happens to Hermione when she's living like a Muggle away from Hogwarts during the summer holidays? PLEASE REVIEW.
1. Hermione, Horses, and a Hero

**Hermione on Holiday**

_(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with HARRY POTTER. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

_(Author's note: this story is set during the summer between ORDER OF THE PHOENIX and HALF-BLOOD PRINCE)_

**Chapter 1 Hermione, Horses, and a Hero**

Hermione was galloping across the field on her rented mount when she felt something tap her thigh. Carefully holding the reins with her left hand, she felt around with her right. The special pocket which she had magicked into her blouse, in order to hold her wand, was empty. The wand must have fallen out, bounced off her jeans, then fallen to the ground.

Hastily pulling the reins to stop her horse and turn it around, she saw the precious wand on the ground. There were other riders from the rental stables nearby. It was a fine summer day, the kids out of school, and she wasn't the only one who had decided to go horse riding. If somebody's horse stepped on the wand, the weight would not only snap the wood but the precious feather inside, rendering it useless. And the rumour running around was that Ollivander, the expert wandmaker, was no longer at Diagon Alley, so it would be difficult to replace the wand.. She hadn't heard a reply from Ron yet confirming the rumour, so she wasn't taking any chances.

Hermione rode to the site, jumped off her horse, and knelt down to retrieve the wand.

"WATCH OUT!!" shouted a male voice.

Wand in hand, Hermione looked up to find a horse galloping directly toward her, a boy on its back. It looked even more terrifying from her kneeling position. Without even trying to get up, Hermione hastily rolled to one side, while the boy desperately pulled his mount to a stop. His horse reared up and whinnied, but was sufficiently far away not to hit Hermione.

The boy dismounted. "What do you think you were doing? That was incredibly stupid. What's wrong with you?"

Hermione rose up. "There's not thing wrong with me! I—" she caught herself just before she revealed her secret. Away from Hogwarts, in the Muggle world, she had to be very careful what she said. Calming down, she admitted, "That was irresponsible, you're right about that."

He calmed a bit himself. "Are you all right?" he said in concern.

"I think so." She looked herself over. "Oh, Merlin, I got some horse dung on my jeans!"

He didn't seem to notice the odd oath. Maybe he mistook it for "merde". "It could have been much worse. What were you trying to do? I saw you pick something up." He sounded curious rather than accusing, until he looked at the object in her hands. "You risked your life for a _stick?"_

"It's not just a stick, it's a – an – heirloom," she said lamely. Hermione lied badly even at the best of times, and right now she was still trying to get her nerves under control.

"You took an heirloom with you while going horse riding?"

"It's a, a good-luck charm," Hermione said desperately. Why on earth had she brought the wand to the stables, anyway? She couldn't use it without running against the rules on Under-aged Magic, and Harry's experience last year proved how nasty that could get. She had simply pocketed the wand by habit. At Hogwarts, nine months of the year, you couldn't do without one. "Look, I'm sorry I got in your way. I'm going to ride back to the stable now, and turn in my horse." She walked back to her mount and hoisted herself back in the saddle.

"I'll ride with you."

_Damn, I wish he'd go away and forget the whole thing. But if he wants to ride with me, how can I stop him? In a way, he saved my life._

"Look," said the boy. "It's not the 'getting in my way' that bothered me; I was just horrified that I might have trampled you by accident. I'm sorry I called you stupid."

"I understand. Think nothing of it." After all, from his point of view she must have looked like quite mental, risking her life to pick up a stick in a field full of swift horses and excited riders. Even Luna wouldn't try a stunt like that. Hermione nearly laughed as she realised that maybe Luna would, if it meant she could prove the existence of one of her crazy animals.

"Maybe we should start over. My name's George Hanover."

"Sounds like a king's name. Four Georges of the Hanover dynasty, back in the 1700s."

"Funny, a lot of people don't catch that nowadays. But no, I'm just an ordinary English bloke. Interested in computers and horses, mostly."

"Odd combination."

"I think of it more as maintaining a balance. Keeping in touch with both nature and technology."

"Interesting philosophy," said Hermione, rather warming up to the bloke now that he had apologized.

"May I ask your name?"

Hermione had hoped to put this embarrassing situation behind her without leaving her name. But she couldn't turn down a polite request, and it didn't occur to her until later to lie and give a false name. "Hermione Granger."

"Granger and Granger? The dentists? I got a filling at their office a couple of years ago."

"They're my parents. What about yours?"

"My Dad works for a software firm. My Mum's a freelance writer, kid's fiction. She says that someday maybe she'll write some blockbuster series and make millions of pounds, but it hasn't happened yet. She and I visited the riding stables last year to do research on one of her books, and I found that I liked riding. You?"

"Not so much. A way of socialising with other girls." Particularly when she was out of touch with the neighbourhood girls for three-fourths of a year. George looked like he was about to inquire more, so Hermione changed the line of conversation. "Ah, here we are. I'll sign in my horse, rent some more riding togs, and try to find a way to get my jeans cleaned. Don't let me take up any more of your time."

"I didn't mind, Hermione. After the first couple of minutes, it was nice getting to know you."

_Know me? He'll never know the real me. Hermione Granger, witch and rising sixth-year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! _

To Be Continued


	2. Hermione, Humbled

**Hermione on Holiday**

**Chapter 2 Hermione Humbled**

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is sat in 1996; hence the talk about "new" Internet technology.)_

"So how did the horse riding go today, Minnie?" asked Mum over dinner.

Hermione thought over what answer to give. She disliked lying to her parents, but over the years she had found it necessary to gloss over the dangers she encountered: nearly getting strangled by a plant as a first year, getting turned to stone as a second year, getting whomped by a willow as a third year… and those were only the major things. Her parents had been amazingly cool about letting her go to the magic school, but she didn't want to admit how dangerous it could get. And, today, she didn't want to mention nearly getting trampled by a horse because she had stupidly brought her wand with her. Fortunately Hermione thought fast. "It was cool."

"Meet any cute boys?" her mother asked with a wink.

"It was mostly girls there, but yes, there was one nice bloke. Named George Hanover. He said he was one of your patients."

"Don't remember him; he must have been a quiet boy," said Mum.

"I suppose it's hard to make conversation when you're mucking around with their teeth," said Hermione.

Her parents laughed. "Minnie, I'm glad your riding lessons worked out," said Dad, "but while we have time this summer, we have to do some serious planning. Do you plan to go to a "Muggle" University?"

"I don't know yet."

"They'll expect certain prior knowledge. Have you read chemistry?"

"Potions."

"Biology?"

"Herbology, and Hagrid teaches Care of Magical Creatures." Her parents had met Hagrid while shopping in Dialog Alley.

"Has he mentioned DNA and its role in hereditary characteristics?"

"Um, no."

"So – I hate to sound like I'm hectoring you – but you need to start preparing now. Plus there's the whole problem of proving your knowledge, since I doubt the colleges will recognize Hogwarts as a public school. IF you're going to University."

There were a lot of issues behind that question. Was Hermione planning to live in the Muggle World? Hogwarts was great at teaching magic, but its curriculum was based on the assumption that one was going to live in the Wizard World: Apparation, Floos, and Portkeys rather than motorcars and aeroplanes; magic charms rather than machines, quills rather than word-processing programs. Hermione thought she would choose the Wizard way of life over the Muggle way, but suppose that she didn't get a choice? If Voldemort became too powerful, Hermione would be _persona non grata_, a Mudblood. Living like a Muggle might be the only safe choice. A tiny part of her brain told her that the Muggle world could be dangerous as well, if Voldamort became too powerful, but she shoved that argument aside. Her parents were waiting for an answer and it was not the time to have discussions with herself.

"I'll think about it in the next few days." That wasn't a stalling manoeuvre; she really did intend to think over it.

"That will be good, Minnie."

"In the meantime," said her mother, "we have a more immediate decision. Mr. Dent has invited us to a dinner tomorrow; he wants to show off his new home computer. By the year 2000 nearly everybody will have one, he says. He's included you in the invitation, Minnie. Do you want to come?"

"What do they know about me?"

"We've given out that you've been attending a special advanced school in the States – and we've been deliberately vague about what subjects you're reading there. I don't think you'll be asked any awkward questions."

"OK, I'll go." It wasn't as if she had much social life of her own here.

"Good, I'll RSVP the invitation."

The next evening Hermione put on a dress – she wasn't sure just when jeans were acceptable at dinners nowadays. She was also careful to leave her wand at home this time. But she forgot that her charm bracelet was really charmed.

Fortunately she was largely ignored, at least at the start of the dinner. She might be sixteen, but to the Dents she was still "the Grangers' little girl Minnie". Mr. Dent was focussed on his new toy.

"It's really a revolution in information," said Mr. Dent as dinner approached its end. "No more shelling out hundreds of pounds for Encyclopaedia Britannica. Just browse for the information you want, and if it's on the Internet, anywhere in the world, you can find it."

"But you have to know how to ask," pointed out Mum.

"Of course, but learning how to use it is simple – they're teaching it to children in schools now. Isn't that right, Minnie?"

"Oh – yes," said Hermione, caught off guard.

"Let me demonstrate. Suppose we want to look up information on that new fantasy book, NORTHERN LIGHTS." He sat at his computer.

"NORTHERN LIGHTS? I haven't heard of that," said Dad.

"It's about a girl living at a school in a medieval-type world," said another guest, a Mrs. Fengue. "My daughter loves it. Of course it's quite unreal. Half-human animals, weird technology, even some witchcraft. And we're supposed to believe a single teenager can thwart a vast conspiracy of grownups. You don't know any teenagers that brilliant, do you, Minnie?"

"No, I don't," lied Hermione, fidgeting slightly.

"I've got it," announced Mr. Dent. "Not only information about the book, but an article on its author, Philip Pullman, including his feud with C.S. Lewis. Now if I want to jump to Lewis – oh, bloody hell! Pardon me, Minnie."

"It's OK. My friends say that all the time," said Hermione.

"What happened?" asked Dad.

"Lost my internet connection. I may have to reboot—"

"Maybe Minnie can fix it," Mrs Fengue volunteered. "I hear you're very clever, Minnie."

Hermione tried to suppress a feeling of panic. She knew nothing about computers, but how could she explain that, when she was supposed to be a clever girl getting advanced schooling? She sat in the chair that Mr. Dent had vacated. Maybe if she went through a few motions, then said the problem couldn't be fixed easily--- She picked up the little box with the wire attached.

Her mother, standing right behind her, whispered: "I think that's called a mouse. You're supposed to roll it on the desk."

Hermione put it back on the desk, and started tapping a few keys. Her charm bracelet came into contact with some keys. Suddenly the screen filled with static and finally went blank altogether. Hermione belatedly realized that the magic charge in her bracelet had mucked up the computer.

"Oh my God – I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she said, jumping up from the chair and feeling herself turn red. The panic grew in her chest and she could almost image the questions that were going to be asked.

"It's all right," said Mr. Dent. "I'll just reboot it."

"Modern technology is bound to be temperamental," said Mrs. Fengue. "I'm sorry I put you on the spot, Minnie."

But Hermione wasn't comforted. She was humiliated. Hermione Granger, the go-to girl for any problem with magic, had made a fool of herself trying to feign knowledge that she didn't have. And though the grownups weren't blaming her, they were figuratively giving the little girl a pat on the head.

Her parents tried to cheer her up afterward, on the way home. "It's really our fault, Minnie. When we talked about your 'advanced education in the States', everybody assumed we were talking about computer wizardry. We need to refine our story a bit."

"No, that's not the big problem. The big problem was that I was stupid," moaned Hermione, putting her head in her hands.

The fundamental problem was wanting to look like an expert when she wasn't, but Hermione didn't want to dwell on that. Instead, she tried to think about how she could become an expert.

The next day, having looked up a certain boy's phone number in her parents' old dentistry records, she punched it into her phone. "Hullo, George? This is Hermione. There's a favour I'd like to ask. Do you tutor girls---?"

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: NORTHERN LIGHTS is the British fantasy novel better known in the US as THE GOLDEN COMPASS. It was written in 1995, at a time when hardly anybody had heard of J.K. Rowling)_


	3. At the Hanover House

**Hermione on Holiday**

**Chapter 3 At the Hanover House**

The Hanovers' house was too far away to walk, and there was not a convenient bus connection, so Hermione's Mum drove her over. Hermione reflected that, this year at Hogwarts, they would teach her to Apparate, but even so it was something she wouldn't be allowed to do in the Muggle World. Her Mum seemed pleased with the computer-tutoring idea, not just because of the embarrassment at the dinner, but also because it looked like Hermione wanted to pick up a Muggle skill. Hermione was careful to leave behind all her magical artifacts this time.

George was already waiting at the door of his house when the Granger's car pulled up. "Just ring me up when you're done, Minnie. You won't be staying beyond teatime, will you?"

"I'm not sure, but I will ring you when I'm ready to be picked up, Mum."

She got out of the car and walked to the entrance. "So your name's really Minnie?" asked the boy.

Hermione shrugged. "My parents and their friends call me that, but I prefer Hermione, and that's the name I use at school. Minnie sounds a little babyish. Like Minnie Mouse."

"Or 'mini-' is a prefix for 'little'?"

"Exactly."

"I'll call you Hermione then." They entered his house and walked into a sort of multipurpose room towards a woman who Hermione guessed to be Mrs. Hanover. She was working at a computer and looked up when they entered. "Oh, Mum, this is the girl I told you about, who's interested in learning about computers."

She was wearing jeans, which startled Hermione a little. Outside her own family, she was used to seeing grownups in robes, not showing their legs. "Fine, dear. I won't bother you two. Just remember to keep the door open."

"Door open?" repeated Hermione as they walked through the house.

"Um, the only other outlet is in my bedroom. Please don't get the idea that--"

"I won't." Half-jocularly she added: "If something does happen, I want you to know that I'm well-trained in self-defence."

"Judo?"

"Something like that."

They went in the bedroom. Anxious NOT to look at the bed, Hermione glanced around. There were a couple of photos of players on horseback chasing a ball, and a third with George himself in regalia. Being Muggle photos, they didn't move, but Hermione was used to that. "You play polo?"

"Well, I learned, but one of my mates moved away and we didn't have enough left to make up a team. Do you play?"

"No. I have some friends who play a, um, variation." Except that they sat on broomsticks rather than horses, and played in 3 dimensions. That was twice that Hermione had mentioned a Hogwarts activity in the last few minutes. She had to be careful.

They settled down at the computer. "Do you want to learn about making contact with the Internet, or word processing, or Email, or programming in general?"

"Yes."

"Um, that was supposed to be a choice."

"Oh." Hermione thought quickly. "Start with what everybody would be expected to know, then we can dig deeper."

"All right."

So they got started. It was a lot like learning things at Hogwarts, but with one crucial difference. At Hogwarts the lessons were useless unless you had inborn magical talent. But this computer knowledge could be used by anybody who applied themselves to learning it. George predicted that within about ten years, everybody would be expected to be able to use a mouse, format a letter, search the Internet. Everybody, Hermione reflected, but wizards. It would be another barrier between the wizard and Muggle worlds, and in this case it would be the wizards who would lack the power.

And there was a deeper concern. Why could some people do magic while others could not? Nobody knew. Hermione herself was an extreme case, an effective witch with no witch ancestry at all. Somebody somewhere in the world, probably the States, knew exactly how a computer worked and could design it to MAKE IT WORK for everyone else. But did Hermione or anybody else know what they were tapping into when they chanted _Wingardium Leviosa_ and objects started defying gravity? In the absence of a real explanation, you heard mystic nonsense like the importance of "pure blood", which dominated the Malfoys' lives.

"Hermione, you're a very fast learner," George said as teatime approached. "I'd thought that we would need at least two sessions. Maybe we can start on some programming next week."

"You did the favour I asked. Beyond this point, I ought to pay—"

"I can't take your money, Hermione."

"I feel I owe you something." Suddenly she had a thought. "How would you like somebody to play polo with? Not as a team, but just the two of us on horseback knocking a ball back and forth?"

She was not sure where the idea had come from. She wasn't even that fond of horse riding. But the fact was that Hermione felt a little inferior where sport was concerned. Nearly everybody she knew was a wiz at Quidditch, in a double sense. Harry, the Weasleys, that despicable Malfoy, even Ginny. Hermione's problem was she got afraid of heights. She could repress it in an emergency, such as riding a hippogriff or thestral to rescue Sirius, but she couldn't have fun rushing through the air. But this was just a matter of riding a horse, and she could prove to herself that she WAS good at sport, aside from doing George a favour.

"You said you didn't play."

"But I can ride horses, and you said I'm a fast learner. We can play next week, then you show me the programming the week after."

"Well – OK, I'd love the opportunity to practice." There was a huge smile on his face, which suddenly fell slightly. "But Hermione…"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a boyfriend?" She noticed that he seemed very awkward asking her.

Her defences went up, as she remembered an unpleasant experience the previous summer. "Are you going to come on to me if I say no?"

"No, of course not. It's just that, if you do have one, I don't want him to misunderstand our meeting a lot. We're just friends."

"Oh." Hermione chewed her lip, deciding how much she wanted to reveal. "Well, there was this bloke last summer. But he got rather beastly one day, wanting to take some liberties with me, and I – broke up with him." She had also put a curse on a certain part of his anatomy, but she couldn't say that. It involved witchcraft, and even wizard boys might get uptight if they learned what sort of spell she had cast.

"So I suppose we don't need to worry about him." George looked slightly relieved and Hermione wondered if he had had troubles with that previously.

"And there are two other boys – it's hard to explain. I love them, but it's not romantic. Basically they consider me 'one of the guys'."

"Do you consider them two of the gals?"

Hermione burst out laughing. "Good lord, if Ron heard you say that…!"

"So one of them is named Ron?"

She wanted to smack herself on the forehead.

_Merlin, I didn't intend to blurt out names! I need to keep my guard up – even though George seems to be a nice kid, he can't know about wizards._

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Gelt and Guilt at Gringotts

**Hermione on Holiday**

**Chapter 4 Gelt and Guilt at Gringotts**

Hermione stood in the area behind the Leaky Cauldron and tapped the brick wall in the prescribed way.

Her parents had refused to spring for the idea of renting a polo pony for several days. Paying for a ride on an ordinary horse on Saturday afternoon was one thing, but now Hermione needed a specially trained horse, and days of practice, and her parents thought it too much. It wasn't that they were broke or stingy; they just thought it was too big an expenditure "just to impress a boy you won't see after autumn comes" as her mother had said.

At an earlier stage in life, Hermione might have given in. But she had been exposed to the Weasley twins for five years, and had actually gone into opposition against Umbridge, and had learnt to be a little rebellious. Plus, though she would not admit it to herself, the polo project gave her an excuse to put off deciding what to do about a Muggle education.

A relative had bequeathed her some investments a few years ago, but Hermione had promised not to touch them except for emergencies. But there was a third alternative. Harry had come into a lot of Galleons a year ago as a reward for winning the Tri-Wizard competition. Although he had given the bulk of it to the Weasley twins, for their planned magic shop, he had also given portions to Hermione and Ron. Those portions were in Gringotts.

The wall finally opened to let Hermione into Diagon Alley.

The sight of the Alley was startling. When she had first come here five years ago, she had felt like Alice in Wonderland: shop after shop of literally magical merchandise. Now many of the stores had gone downhill, some to the point of closing. Ollivanders was vacant, as Ron had warned her. It was a good thing that she had rescued her wand last Saturday.

The best sign of life was some distance from the entrance: Fred and George were fixing up a vacant store, obviously intending to open their magic shop there. One of the twins – Hermione couldn't tell which one, even after all these years- was standing outside. He smiled and waved, walking towards her. He probably wouldn't even mind her confusion, since impersonating each other was one of their favourite pranks.

"Hullo, Hermione, what brings you here?" asked Fred or George.

"I'm on my way to Gringotts, but I also hoped that you could help me with a bit of magic."

"You need help with magic? The world is coming to an end!"

"It's not that I can't do it." She took two polo balls out of her pocket. "I want to be able to summon these over and over, but I can't use _Accio_, because it would be Underage Magic. And after what happened to Harry last year at the Wizangemot--"

"In other words, you want to break the spirit of the law while observing the letter," observed the twin.

"Um--"

"Glad to be of help. By embodying the magic charm in the ball, to be triggered when you utter the proper phrase, you won't set off the Trace."

"Yes."

"I'll hex them so that they will show up whenever you say, 'I wish I had some balls.' "

Hermione giggled. "Could we pick a different phrase?"

"Ah, you got the _double entendre_. Ron usually doesn't. All right, just say 'Boomerang Ball'." He tapped the balls with his wand.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. What're the balls for, may I ask?"

"There's a game called polo, sort of like Quidditch. You ride a horse, waving a mallet, and try to hit a ball into a goal. But I've got to practice on my own some, and I don't want to use up all my time chasing after balls."

"I thought Muggles didn't ride horses anymore. They prefer machines."

"It's sport. How often do you ride a broomstick to work?"

"Touche. Well, good luck playing with your balls, and remember to come back when we open the shop."

"I will. So you're not coming back to Hogwarts? Umbridge is gone, after all."

"Nah, it's time to do something different."

They parted, and Hermione continued to the bank.

The interior of the bank was as solemn as usual, but did not show the depressing decay that she had found in the rest of Diagon Alley. After all, individual shops could come and go, but the goblins of Gringotts performed an irreplaceable service, and did so without abusing it. The bank would prosper when nothing else would.

In the grand central hall, she went up to a goblin teller. "I'd like to make a withdrawal."

The Goblin seemed to grimace at the word "withdrawal", though it was hard to tell the difference. "How much, madam?"

Hermione presented the estimate she had gotten from the stables. "This much, and it has to be in pounds. Do I have to go down to the vault?" She disliked riding the transport cart; although underground, it rushed over even deeper areas, and created another problem with acrophobia.

"Not when we're converting currency, madam. We'll remove an equivalent amount from your vault."

_Good thing Goblins are trustworthy_, thought Hermione. _I'd hate to have an unwatched banker misuse my money_. "Thank you."

So she had charmed polo balls for practice, and money to pay for the more expensive items. Hermione left the bank feeling very pleased.

The summer sun had gotten hot, and Hermione withdrew into a shady niche in the outside wall to cool off for a moment. She heard an odd noise from a couple feet away and below her, and looked.

An elf was beating its head against the wall.

It looked cartoonish at first, but Hermione knew the elf could feel pain as much as humans. "Stop! Stop! AS A HUMAN, I order you to stop!"

The last phrase did it.

"What the hell were you doing?" demanded Hermione.

"I am punishing myself for losing my master's money, madam. I dropped it somewhere in the vicinity."

"Couldn't you _Accio_ it?"

"I am not allowed to summon my master's money, madam."

"Even when – oh hell. Wait a moment." She went down on her knees and searched, glad that she was wearing jeans instead of an awkward robe. "Here it is, it fell in a crack. Mission accomplished. There's no reason to punish yourself."

"Not now, madam. Thank you."

_Not now. _No, not ever. Why should an elf feel guilty because his master is too lazy to do his own transactions, as she just did? Hermione had tried to fight the elvish servitude two years ago, but had to give up. Fighting Umbridge had become more urgent, and of course there was Voldemort to worry about. But this was an evil not connected with Voldemort, and it had not gone away just because Hermione's attention had. Now she was forcibly reminded of it, just when she had spent a lot of money on personal pleasure.

Last summer, after getting rid of her overenthusiastic boyfriend, Hermione had retreated to her room and read up on Muggle British history, a subject that got little attention at Hogwarts. She had read that British Muggles had abolished slavery two centuries ago, under the leadership of William Wilberforce, a Quaker reformer, and John Newton, a former slave-ship captain who had suffered a crisis of conscience. The two had probably been inspired by the French philosopher Voltaire. But that had all happened in the 1700s, and the wizard world was completely out of the loop by then. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy had been passed in the 1690s, severing most connections between wizards and Muggles.

Ron, so sensible and kind-hearted a boy in other respects, didn't understand why elf slavery outraged her. Harry and Dumbledore seemed to understand, but they were pre-occupied, understandably, with Voldemort. What other wizards would? Maybe Sirius, Lupin, and Hagrid, the wizards who had suffered injustice. And Sirius was dead.

Once she was grown up and they got rid of Voldemort, Hermione resolved, she would try to do something about it. It would have to be her, the bridge between the Muggle and wizard worlds. The wizard world would need her insights. Some day, they had to learn from Muggles.

But for the moment, she was still a kid and there was nothing she could do – except settle her bum in a saddle and play some polo with a nice Muggle boy.

__

TO BE CONTINUED.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The emergency fund I mentioned was what Hermione cashed in at the begining of DEADLY HALLOWS to pay for necessities while in hiding. I couldn't remember exactly how Hermione had identified it, exceot that it was in the Muggle World)


	5. Mallets, Money, and Meditations

**Hermione on Holiday**

**Chapter 5 Mallets, Money, and Meditations**

Gripping her horse's reins in her left hand, Hermione wielded the mallet with her right, and was gratified to watch the ball fly off in the distance. She felt like a champion Beater in Quidditch. She wasn't just Brainy Girl.

At the same time, she couldn't suppress guilt feelings entirely.

_Lots of things need to be done. Voldemort is on the rise. Elves are enslaved all over the Wizard World. Harry is in mourning over losing Sirius. And I'm just sitting here on my arse._

Guilt morphed into a bit of defiance, even though the only thing she was defying was her own sense of responsibility.

_Dammit, I've been doing my part! I encouraged a lot of students to learn self-defence in Dumbledore's Army. I risked my life to bring down Death Eaters at the Ministry. Aren't I entitled to a bit of fun?_

_Mrs. Weasley was right. Fighting evil should be a job for adults. I'm just sixteen. And we've been fighting Voldemort in various ways since we were eleven, trying to keep the other side from getting the Philosopher's Stone. It's somebody else's turn._

A frightening thought came to Hermione.

_I've got a choice. Unlike Ron and Harry and the others, I could bail out. Be a Muggle girl. Leave the Wizard World to solve its own problems._

The moment she thought it, she shook her head.

_But I can't just walk out on my friends like that. Harry, the Weasleys, Neville, even Luna grows on you after a while. And they may need a Brainy Girl. And is there anybody else that understands about the elves?_

When the ball came back in response to her boomerang charm, Hermione swung her mallet and struck it violently, putting all her frustration behind the blow.

At home came the arguments. Her parents didn't yell at her – they never did – but they were clearly concerned about how she was spending her time and money, and they harangued her about it over dinner.

"But I didn't use the family's money," Hermione insisted. "It was a gift from Harry. I helped him win an award in Fourth Year, and he shared some of it with me."

"Using money from one boyfriend to help impress another boyfriend?" asked Mum.

"They're neither of them my boyfriends, Mum!" Hermione's cheeks flushed at the thought. She definitely didn't feel that way towards Harry and she had yet to determine the depth of her feelings for George.

"It's not the money itself that bothers us, Minnie," said Dad. "It's whether you are learning to manage it properly. Every day at school you go to the dining hall to eat, and every night you go to your dorm to sleep, and it all seems free. You don't see the tuition that's been paid for room and board and the rest. We're not begrudging the tuition; that's not the point. But do you think you'll be able to provide all of your life's needs just by waving a wand?"

"No, it doesn't work this way."

"Girls can go in for football nowadays, or a lot of other sport. Instead, you've developed a fascination for polo. Polo is a rich man's sport, because it requires spare cash to maintain an expensive, trained horse. The American scholar Veblen even suggested that rich people like polo just because it advertises that they have spare cash. He called it 'conspicuous waste', and he wasn't just talking about manure piles."

Mum slammed down her fork. "Darling, do you have to say 'manure' when we're eating dinner?"

"Sorry."

"What concerns me, Minnie," said Mum, "is this: have you given any more thought to preparing for college? Muggle college, I mean."

_She's right. I can't just stand there and proclaim: I'm a Muggle girl. If I want it to be an option, there are things I will have to do._ Out loud she said: "George is teaching me about computers."

"That's a good idea, as far as it goes. Computers seem to be the future. But there's the matter of proving that you've gotten a secondary education. Could that headmaster of yours, Dumbledore, help out there?"

"Maybe. I'd have to ask. Yes, Mum, I WILL think about it more."

But on Saturday, when she led the polo pony out of the stable and hoisted herself up into the saddle, she was determined to push the disturbing thoughts out of her head and concentrate on pleasant things: her horse, the fresh air (she tried to ignore the scent of manure), the lovely lawn to ride on.

"Hermione?"

She twisted in the saddle and saw a familiar head of red hair, attached to a body dressed in what was obviously intended to look like Muggle clothes. "Fred!"

"Actually, I'm George. I'm the one who put the charm on your balls." He didn't seem offended that, even after six years, she couldn't always distinguish the twins. She guessed that almost no one could.

"George. But what are you doing here?"

"Scouting for ideas. We run a novelty shop, y'know. So when you told me about a new sport I knew nothing about, I thought I'd have a look."

"Well, you can watch if you like. But I may not be able to introduce you to my mate – I don't have a cover story prepared."

"I understand. Statute of secrecy and all that. After all, part of my Dad's job is to help keep wizard artefacts out of Muggle sight."

"Well, pardon me for leaving, but I promised to meet my mate at the far end of the pitch."

"Certainly. Cheerio." He made an exaggerated wave and bowed slightly.

Hermione urged her horse into a gallop, crossing the lawn to the predetermined spot. She didn't want to admit it, and certainly the Weasley twin had meant no harm, but she was a bit disturbed to have the Wizard World suddenly intrude on the Muggle World. She hoped the twin would behave himself, something the twins rarely did.

At the far end, her heart leapt as she saw the handsome George Hanover ride onto the pitch, on his own beautiful horse. It was such a romantic sight.

_Maybe Mum is right, and George is turning into my boyfriend---_

TO BE CONTINUED.

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The idea of asking Dumbledore for advice about faking "Muggle" school records is from SANDEFUR. Part of Hermione's opening soliloquy was edited by Briee)_

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: When Hermione's Dad talks about girls playing football, he is referring to soccer)_


	6. Falls, Fibs, and Foulups

**Hermione on Holiday**

**Chapter 6 Falls, Fibs, and Foul-ups**

George Hanover, pulled his mount to a stop, waved his mallet in a mock threat. "I'm going to obliterate you – but in a nice way."

Hermione tried to sneer like Draco Malfoy, but figured she failed miserably. No one could sneer as well. "Think you've got the balls for that?"

George looked startled, then burst out laughing at the pun. "Yes, I do. Here." He tossed a polo ball to the ground, and knocked it toward Hermione.

Hermione soon learnt that this was different from her practice sessions. The ball with the Weasley spell had been predictable, always returning to Hermione when ordered, and at a constant velocity. George, however, was trying to simulate a real game of polo, sending balls in Hermione's general direction, but making them hard to catch. Hermione, though seated on her horse, figuratively had to think on her feet, reacting to challenges quickly.

She remembered the advice that her trainer had given her at the end of the first day.

"You're a very fast learner, Miss Granger. But simply knowing the right movements is not enough. You must be able to do them almost unthinkingly. In the heat of a game, you must be thinking strategy, not 'how do I tell my horse how to get in position?'. You must have such a rapport with the horse that you can direct it with the minimum of signals, leaving your mind and body free to focus on the game. And when you're a team, personal prowess is not the most important thing. Sometimes the wisest thing is to hang back and let a closer teammate take a play, even if looks unheroic."

Hermione had learnt that the previous year: it was the difference between choosing the right defensive spell during a Dumbledore's Army meeting, vs dodging a Death Eater trying to kill her at the Ministry. It was strange to hear the concept used in such a Muggle situation. Some things were basically true, for both Muggles and wizards.

She was startled out of reverie when a swift ball came whizzing toward her.. The ball was approaching more than a yard to her right, and Hermione didn't think she had time to guide her horse to the side. . Instead she shook her left foot free of the stirrup, leaned to the right, and whacked the ball with her mallet. The manoeuvre succeeded, but Hermione realized that she had made a horrible mistake.

She couldn't get her balance back.

Jolted by the horse's motion, she felt herself slipping out of the saddle to her right. If she fell off altogether, with her right foot still in the stirrup, she'd hit the ground and be dragged beside a galloping horse, possibly to her death.

"Help!!"

George Hanover had spotted the problem and was galloping toward her. But she didn't think he'd reach her in time. Scarcely had she completed the thought when she fell off her horse altogether.

Something saved her.

It was several seconds before she could figure it out – but somehow she was floating above the ground and gliding beside the horse. She had the presence of mind to shake her right foot free of the stirrup before trying to think through it. Then she slowed and drifted to the grass. She saw her horse's rump pass by as it continued to gallop without her, and good riddance to it.

George Hanover pulled up his own mount a few yards away. "Bloody hell – what just happened?"

"I-I don't know," stammered Hermione, who was not a good liar.

"Hermione!" came a second voice, as the Weasley twin dashed up, hastily thrusting his wand into his pocket. "Are you all right?"

The Muggle boy, who had now dismounted, turned on the newcomer. "Who are YOU?"

"Ah, my name's George."

"That can't be. MY name's George."

"It's possible for two blokes to have the same name, y'know."

They were all too frazzled to think clearly at the moment. To Hermione, sitting on her bum and trying to calm her nerves, it almost seemed like an allegory: two different Georges, one a Muggle and the other a wizard, battling over her soul like good and evil angels. Except that both Georges were good men.

"Never mind that. Did you just rescue Hermione? And how?"

"Me? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You saw her fall off, but didn't see her float around? Bollocks!"

Hermione, still sitting on the ground and catching her breath, finally understood what had happened. George Weasley had seen the danger and used a spell – probably _Wingardium Leviosa_ – to save her life. But of course he couldn't say so in front of a Muggle.

"The important thing is that I'm okay, isn't it?" insisted Hermione.

"Yes, it's the important thing, but now that it's done, I want to know how it happened! What's your connection with Hermione, anyhow?" he demanded of the twin.

"Er, I…" His face was turning pink and the tip of his ears were already red.

Hermione was sorry for the Weasley twin. He had saved her life, and she wanted to give him a hug and kiss in gratitude, but instead he was being harangued by the Muggle boy. Hermione had never seen either of the twins at such a loss for a response. His priority, of course, had been rescuing her.

"I'm a witch!" she blurted out.

"W-what?" said George Hanover, turning to Hermione in astonishment.

"Hermione, don't—" warned George Weasley, but she was too caught up in her emotions to stop. The strain of having to live a lie, to hold back just when she wanted to let an affectionate relationship build naturally, had snapped.

"I'm a witch. The reason I don't know about computers is that I spend all my school time studying spells. The stick you saw me look for the other day, that was my wand."

"Hermione, you're not talking sense. Did you bang your head when you fell?" asked George Hanover in concern.

"Yes, yes, that's probably it," said the Weasley twin hastily. "We've got to get her somewhere where she can lie down, and maybe see a hea—um, doctor."

George Hanover had a good sense of priorities. The possibility that Hermione was hurt was more important than solving the mystery of the floating girl. "Right. Where'd your horse go, Hermione? Never mind. Get up on my horse and I'll lead you back to the rental office."

It was obvious that the best thing to do at the moment was play along with the mistake. Hermione put her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up atop George Hanover's mount, trying to look more dizzy than she actually felt.

He led her across the field toward the buildings. Other riders, aware that some accident had taken place but fortunately not knowing the details, stopped to let them by. The Weasley twin, who had started to accompany them, dropped back when the Muggle boy wasn't looking, and disappeared somehow, probably Apparation. A good idea; Hermione needed to thrash things out with George Hanover alone.

Finally they reached the stableyard. George dropped the reins and stood by his horse's side, ready to catch Hermione as she dismounted. She deliberately fell against him and gave him a hug, on the pretext of regaining her balance. No matter how awkward the situation was, it wasn't really his fault. A lovely boy with a healthy sense of curiosity; naturally he wanted to know what happened. Hermione couldn't criticize that trait because she owned it as well.

But she kept her mouth shut as he led his horse into the stable. She still had not thought of a proper explanation. Maybe just continue to feign injury.

Suddenly George stiffened and sank to the ground. At first Hermione feared that he had slipped on some horse droppings, but the stable floor was clean, and he didn't move after hitting the straw.

"George, George! What is it?" She knelt beside him.

"He'll be all right," said a cold voice. "But I'm afraid you're in a lot of trouble. Didn't anybody tell you it's important to keep secrets?"

And she looked up to find three stern Wizard Aurors pointing their wands at her.

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. The Choice

**Hermione on Holiday**

**Chapter 7 The Choice**

Still kneeling on the floor of the stable, Hermione looked up at the faces of the Aurors. There were some Aurors who were friends and allies, and might give her a sympathetic hearing: Nymphadora Tonks, and Mad-Eye Moody. But she didn't recognize any of these three.

She rejected the temptation to fight her away out of the situation. Her wand was at home. Even if she had it, she doubted that she was a match for three Aurors. She had learnt self-defence from Harry, but these were professionals with a lot of training, and even the permission to use ordinarily taboo spells like the Imperius curse, if somebody pressed them too far. Hermione wouldn't.

Behind the Aurors themselves was the authority of the Ministry for Magic. Now that Fudge was out of power and Umbridge had been demoted, she had to respect the Ministry as the lawful wizard government. That didn't make anything any easier.

"What do you plan to do?" she asked.

"We will put an _Obliviate_ spell on the Muggle. When he awakes, he will not remember anything about a strange girl who claimed to be a witch."

"No! Please! Let George remember me!"

"You need to focus on your own situation, Miss. Violating the Statute of Secrecy is a serious matter. You must come with us."

"NO," boomed a fourth voice. "Let me handle this."

Hermione turned to find a rather dignified wizard, beardless but with long flowing hair -- lionlike, not girlish.

"Minister Scrimgeour!" exclaimed one of the Aurors. "Sir, this is a fairly routine—"

"I'll judge that. Last year the wizard judiciary system made fools of themselves, over-reacting in the Harry Potter case. I don't want to repeat their mistake. Concentrate on the boy, and let me deal with Miss Granger myself."

"Yes, Minister."

"Phew, it stinks in here. Hold my arm, Miss Granger, and I'll Apparate you out to my office."

Realizing that there was nothing she could do here, Hermione took the arm of the Minister for Magic. There followed a dizzying moment during which they seemed to be whirling around a fourth dimension, then she found herself in an ornate office.

"I thought we were going to the Ministry," Hermione said, looking around.

"This is a spare office that I use during emergencies," said the Minister for Magic. "At the Ministry we'd have to go through the gauntlet of the phone booth, main hall, and lift with lots of officials watching. I wanted to spare you that, Miss Granger. You're upset, and naturally so. Please sit down. Would you like tea? Or something stronger, like butterbeer?"

She gave her choice and he waved his wand. A cup of tea appeared in front of her and she took it.

He sat behind an impressive desk, and Hermione took a chair on the other side and sipped on the tea, noticing it was exactly as she liked it. Physically, she was comfortable. Mentally, she was in turmoil.

"I'll have the secrecy-violation charges dismissed," said Scrimgeour. "As the Minister for Magic, I have that authority, and we owe you that much for catching the Death Eaters last spring. But we want some assurance that this won't happen again."

Hermione was scarcely listening. "You can have George's memory restored, can't you sir?"

"Magically, it's possible, but it would not be a good idea."

"Why not? George is a nice boy, harmless. He resented my lying to him, but he would never hurt us."

"Yes he might let the secret slip to others, as you did. It's better to plug potential leaks at the origin."

"Why is it so important to keep it secret, sir?"

"Muggles fear people who are different, particular when the difference includes possession of special powers. It was bad enough in the Middle Ages, when we were accused of deriving our powers from the devil. But in the 1700s, the age of Newton and the founding of the Royal Society, it was possible that Muggles might investigate the matter scientifically and start to realize that we were a hereditary group. As a group we would be perceived as far more dangerous. It was better to disappear and let Muggles think that we had been a medieval superstition."

"But that was 300 years ago!" protested Hermione

"Muggles still fear people who are different. In Germany 50 years ago—"

"Those were Nazis! This is the United Kingdom, a civilized democracy."

"Democracy is based on certain assumptions. 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal' – do you recognize the phrase?"

"The American Declaration of Independence."

"Good, you have a fine grasp of Muggle history, Miss Granger. Well, you are Muggle-born after all, but that's not the point. The problem is that we were NOT created equal. We have special powers that ordinary human beings do not. Can democracy handle a class that is permanently separate and superior? I would prefer not to try the experiment."

"Wizards aren't that superior! Muggles have things we don't. Telephones, aeroplanes, computers. Right now they're inventing something called the Internet. A lot of power just by pushing a button. What have we got? Owls, broomsticks, quills!"

"Yes, the lack of magic has inspired Muggles to be inventive in other ways. But they are still likely to resent somebody who can harness great power by the waving of a wand."

Hermione sighed. She was, in the eyes of the Ministry, a mere schoolgirl; she was unlikely to talk him out of ingrained attitudes that he may have developed years ago. "Can't you at least make an exception for George and me, and let us stay together?"

"Do you love him?"

"I – I don't know."

Scrimgeour fell silent for a long period. "There is an alternative. But I'd hate to suggest it."

"What?"

"We could alter YOUR memory. Remove your memories of being a witch. You would still have magical abilities, of course, but you would not be conscious of them or know how to use them. After that, it would be safe to erase just the boy's memory of today's accident, and you two will be safe together, just two Muggles. Of course we would not do that without your permission."

"You're joking!"

"This isn't a laughing matter, Miss Granger. I told you that I hated the idea. You're one of the most promising witches of your generation, and I can foresee a great future for you in our culture. But you have a choice, Miss Granger. Think about it for the remainder of the holidays. Live as a Muggle or stay a witch?"

So they had come right down to the question: what did Hermione want to do with her future? Commit to the Wizard World, or be a Muggle?

Picking Muggledom would mean giving up Harry, Ron, Hagrid, dozens of others, all for the sake of a boy she had known for a couple of weeks. She thought she loved George Hanover, but was it any more than a crush?

Picking Muggledom would also mean that Harry, Ron, and a few other friends would have to fight Voldemort without her help. And the elves would be left without a spokeswoman. Or was she over-valuing how much she mattered in the Wizard World?

Picking Muggledom would mean that the last five years of her life were one immense cul-de-sac, not even something to be remembered. The search for the Philosopher's Stone, trying to catch the Basilisk, the rescue of Sirius, standing up to Umbridge and Lucius Malfoy – all meaningless.

"I've decided now. I'll be a witch – and – and – never see George again." Her heart broke a little and she forced away a tear that wanted to break free.

"Good decision. It's for the best, Miss Granger. Do you want us to Apparate you back to the stables?"

"No! I don't want to be reminded. Just take me home."

"Very well. We'll invent a cover story, take care of returning your horse, and all that. Don't worry about that."

"That's not what I will worry about."

-------

The escort left her once she reached the front door. As Hermione walked in, she heard her mother doing some chores in the kitchen.

"Minnie? You're home early! I thought you were going horse-riding with your boyfriend," came Mum's voice.

"We – we had a fight, Mum – I don't want to talk about it." Hermione dashed up the stairs, run into her bedroom, and threw herself on the bed to cry. Home had at least one advantage over Hogwarts: she had a room of her own, and she could be miserable in privacy, instead of having Ginny Weasley or some other well-meaning roommate hovering over her trying to comfort her.

There should have been a third way, she thought. She should have been able to argue, that human beings were basically decent, that it was possible for wizards and Muggles to live together, if they only worked at it. But she hadn't been able to verbalize it, and certainly the Minister for Magic would not have thought of it. Voldemort had already corrupted everybody to that extent, that it was difficult to be optimistic, to think hopeful thoughts. So George Hanover would be hexed into forgetting that Hermione existed, and Hermione would have to do her best to forget what had been a lovely summer interlude.

Picking up her wand, she zapped the magic polo balls into non-existence. She would never need them again. Using that destructive spell might be illegal, but the Minister would appreciate the symbolic gesture.

And she decided to give up horses for the rest of the summer. Get in a saddle, and it would be an instant reminder of her loss. And if she was committed to being a witch, there was no point in learning more about computers.

She swore that she would do her best to bring down Voldemort. She resolved that, after that, she would do her best to get the elves liberated from their bondage.

Then, perhaps, today's sacrifice would be justified.

THE END


End file.
